


dead boy walking

by strawberryfire



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Harringrove, M/M, billy has gotten therapy, i guess idk, pre-season 3, steve has a ptsd attack, steve’s dad is mentioned, they beat each other up, tw: PTSD, tw: abuse, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 16:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfire/pseuds/strawberryfire
Summary: i wish we’d met before they convinced us life was war.—songs:dead girl walking, reprise from heathers: the musicalthe only exception by paramore





	dead boy walking

**Author's Note:**

> 1) yes i know that isn’t the completely right lyric in the summary  
2) i hate angst bc it makes me anxious so that’s why this isn’t good  
3) i just wanted a excuse to use that ~one verse~ in dead girl walking bc it applies to billy very well

-_steve_-

my house was a complete disaster and it had just struck 1am.

everyone had gone home, but nancy, jonathan and robin stayed sober (thank god) to help me clean up afterwards. they knew i hated when the house was messy.

i hear a car pull up in the driveway and my heart literally falls out of my ass, thinking it’s my parents.

“fuck. fuck, you guys go hide somewhere. fuck.” i panic, not knowing what to do.

robin peaks out the window, “um, steve, it’s not your parents.”

i sigh of relief, “thank jesus.”

“it’s billy hargrove.”

i spoke too soon.

“well.” i sigh again, “you guys can just head home. i’ll clean up tomorrow, there’s not much more to do anyway. thank you so much.”

“of course.” nancy smiles and gives me a hug.

i hug robin and jonathan, then they walk out and drive home.

and billy fucking hargrove just walks in like he owns the place.

“may i help you?” i say as i sweep up the floor.

“looks like i missed the party huh?” he has a stupid smirk on his face and i wish i could just fucking slap it off. god i hate him.

i roll my eyes and don’t respond.

there was a very _very_ small part of me that tells myself to be kinder. his father had only just gone to jail for child abuse. okay, not really, it was like three months ago. that small part of my head is like an angel on my shoulder, scolding me for being so rude.

i could smell the weed on his denim jacket as he walks into the kitchen where i was. he leans against the counter, “should getcha a little maid outfit.” he chuckles.

“shut up. i don’t want my dad…” i cut myself off. i didn’t want to trigger anything. and yeah, fuck it i guess i’ll be nice because i understand where he’s coming from.

billy raises an eyebrow, “you got a douchebag dad too?”

see, that’s what makes me the most mad. is that billy doesn’t even try to act hurt or traumatized. it’s like he doesn’t care, which is sad because that means he’s numb.

but to be fair, i am too.

“yeah.”

i pick up empty coke cans and toss them in the recycling.

my dad would call me a pussy for acting like this. because billy took my place and my dad didn’t like that. i was supposed to be the “king”. but i wasn’t, i was dumb as all fucking get out and i had absolutely no purpose in life.

“what’s up his ass?”

“huh?”

he blows out smoke from his lips and it dances around his face before disappearing, “was he in the war or somethin’?”

“it’s none of your business.” i snap, fixing the couch cushions and prayed no one fucked on it.

billy rolls his eyes, “sure it is. what, mr perfect king steve has a shitty home life? what a surprise.” his lips are still curled into a smirk and it takes everything in me not to slap some sense into him.

“my mother is a delight, i’ll have you know. dad’s are never fucking nice. beside mr. sinclair. but you would never fucking know that because you’re a racist ass piece of shit.”

billy chuckles again and blows smoke in my direction, “that’s a lot of curse words, mister.”

“fuck you. why are you even here?”

he shrugs, “bored.” he grabs the last beer from the cooler and pops it open no problem. he takes a swing, “plus, i love bothering you. it’s hilarious. you get angry so easily.”

i clench my fists because he’s not wrong, it’s just him that gets me angry because i fucking hate him. i want to be nice to him, i _really do _because he’s hurt. i know he acts like this because he’s traumatized. cause when my dad used to hurt me real bad, i was a complete douchebag.

“aww you gonna punch me pretty boy? or are you too bitch to do it?” he sets his beer down and walks towards me, cornering me.

“so what if i do? you won’t swing first, pussy.” i sneer, taunting him.

now what that was douche steve talking, that was a steve that i thought i killed off in my own head.

he blows smoke straight into my face and it burns so fucking bad. i don’t dare show it. then he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and presses it hard against my arm.

he’s laughing, “you’re such a fucking piece of shit, harrington, i hope you know that.”

he keeps pressing the cig down and he keeps laughing and i can’t stand it. he sounds exactly like my dad and i can’t do it anymore. so i punch him, square in the face and he stumbles backwards.

“no! no, billy you’re the fucking piece of shit!” i shout and push him down. i had enough, i was sick of playing mr. nice guy because he didn’t fucking care either way.

“you are such a piece of shit!” i scream and punch him again. “you literally don’t care about anyone but your fucking self!! you are such a fucking douchebag and i don’t even think you realize it!!”

i keep punching at him until he weakly puts his arms up, “s-stop.” i hear him whisper.

his hands are shaking. fuck. fuck, what have i done.

and so i stop.

he sits up then grabs my shirt and slams me against the wall. he has tears in his eyes and he punches me square in the face.

he keeps hitting me over and over and over. he’s crying, crying hard as he slams me against the wall again.

he drops me and i fall to the ground. he downs the beer and heads for the door.

fuck fuck what do i say? i gotta find something to say. my head is aching, my body is shaking. i can’t quite catch my breath.

then i got it.

“i-i…” i push myself up, blood in mouth and all over my shirt, “i wish your mom had been a little stronger.”

billy stops dead in his tracks.

“i wish she could have stayed around a little longer.”

he turns around and he’s storming at me again.

i quickly stand up, “i wish your dad was good, billy! i just wish t-the grownups understood.”

he stops again and he’s just looking at me, trying not to cry.

“i wish we’d met before they convinced us life is war.”

and even though i started this fight, i wanted to end it.

i gently put my hands on his cheeks, “i wish you’d come with me.” i whisper. “stay with me. i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i’m sorry.”

he blinks and a tear falls down.

i just pull his stiff body into my arms and i hold him there. he tries pushing me away, but i’m not having it.

“let it out.” i whisper and i feel him crying into my neck, the tears rolling down onto my shirt.

he’s sobbing now and before i can stop it i’m crying with him.

but it’s not just crying. my chest is tightening. no, no, he cannot see me like this. i try to talk, try to tell him to leave but it just comes out at as a squeak. i try to push him away. it’s barely a nudge. i can’t stand up. i see my dad in the doorway even though he’s not there. i hear his snickering and his terrifying voice ringing in my ears.

“steve?” i hear billy’s voice and he sounds worried.

my hands are shaking so much and i slide down the wall, crying and sobbing silently.

“_fucking worthless, steve. absolutely worthless. i thought i raised you better than this! jesus fucking christ! you’re gonna end up a fucking nothing. you were supposed to fucking be something!”_

over  
and  
over  
and  
over.

  
—_**billy**_—

yeah i just came over to annoy him.

but i triggered something. i triggered something to moment i sunk the cigarette butt into his arm and from that very moment, i felt such deep regret.

he was such a nice boy. he really was. he had changed a lot. he took my sister places, always paid for the videos they rented, always paid for their movie popcorn. always was smiling. he had scars and burns on his arms but i never questioned it.

yeah, my dad was a douchebag and what he did to me fucking sucked. but i got therapy. i had been getting better, with the trauma part at least.

and i realized it a little too late that steve was hurting. hurting bad.

and he made me so fucking angry because he made me cry, he made me feel something that i hated to feel.

he made me feel love and i hated it.

i was gonna fucking kill him because i was so mad but of course, it was his kind words that always changed my fucking mind.

his tone of voice was almost pleading, begging.

and for the first time in my life, when i turned to look at him, i regretted what i did.

he had a huge bloody bruise on his cheek and a nose that was most definitely broken. his bottom lip was cut open and the burn i left on his arm was bleeding too. he looked at me like a lost puppy, tears rolling down his cheek, mixing with the blood pouring from his nose.

i couldn’t help it. i started crying. _hard_. partly because of what he said and partly because oh my god, what had i done?

but he was the one holding me.  
not the other way around like it should be.

i was crying hard with him because god fuck i love him. i care about pretty boy, i care about king steve and i fucking hurt him.

i feel him nudge me. i look up and he’s gasping for breath.

“steve…?”

he falls to the ground, gripping his hair and sobbing so hard his entire body is shaking.

i knew what was happening, almost immediately because of what my therapist told me. he was having a ptsd episode and by the look of it, this one was really bad.

okay so one was sights. i frantically look around, getting rid of every beer bottle, every cigarette and i light the nearest candle, which was scented vanilla.

i pour him a glass of water and sit in front of him, “steve, drink this, please.”

he shakes his head and starts rocking back and forth.

i knew i couldn’t undo what i had done. but i couldn’t just leave him here. i keep looking around and i think of his stupid teddy bear. i rush upstairs and find his room, grab the bear and the blanket on top of his bed. i think of his shirt, how fucked it is. i don’t want to go through his drawers so i run out to my car and grab one of my extra shirts.

(okay maybe i just wanted to see him in my shirt because he’s so much skinner than me. it would be cute.)

i go back to him and gently drape the blanket around his shoulders. i set the bear in his lap.

“breathe, steve.” i say softly, sitting down in front of him but enough space that he doesn’t feel trapped.

he very slowly starts to calm down and shakily picks up the glass of water, sipping it.

i get a warm towel and gently wipe away the blood on his face.

his breathing is shakily but he’s not choking or gasping anymore so that’s good. he winces when i press down on the cut.

“i’m sorry, i know it hurts.” i try to keep my voice as gentle as possible because he’s so vulnerable right now and i don’t want to make him scared.

i clean up the cut and put some gauze on it. after cleaning up his nose, it wasn’t broken like i thought. just another bad cut. i put some more gauze and a bandaid on it.

he had calmed down now, his chest rising and falling slowly.

and his hair was a fucking mess so i grabbed my comb out of my pocket and gently brushed through it. he seemed to like that because he smiled a little.

there was a mutual unspoken feeling between the both of us that saying sorry was pointless. we were both hurting, one a little more than the other.

“y’know,” i whisper, “i don’t really hate you. i just wanted to annoy you.”

his voice sounds so broken and tired, “i know.”

i gently lift him up and he almost immediately falls over. i catch him and put my hands on his back, “hey, hey it’s okay. i got you.”

“pick me up.” he half whispers, half mumbles.

and so i do. i blow out the candle and turn off the lights then carry him up to his room. i gently set him down and he lets me change his shirt. i was right. he looked absolutely adorable.

he lays back onto his pillows and doesn’t say anything. maybe i should just leave. i think time alone would be good.

just as i turn to walk out the door, i hear his tired voice again.

“please…don’t.”

i take off my jacket and my shoes then crawl into bed. i don’t get near him, too afraid to.

he looks at me and whispers, “is it bad that i love you, billy?”

i shake my head, “not at all, steve.”

he snuggles close to me, resting his head on my chest.

he’s just as warm as i thought he’d be.

“when i first saw you at school, your first day, i almost died.” steve says, tracing patterns lazily on my collarbones.

i laugh a little, “yeah?”

“mhmm.” he hums. “you’re so pretty.”

“as are you.” i gently run my fingers through his hair and he smiles. a real one.

he moves so that he’s laying inches from my face.

“i loved someone once. her name is nancy wheeler and she shattered my heart on the night of a halloween party. i saw you that night and i wondered if you heard it. heard her saying bullshit, me asking if she loved me. her saying no. billy, i…i wanted to marry her. i loved her so much and i had never had my heart broken so hard. i came home at 3am and my dad beat me that night. i gave up on happiness that night and i knew that the good life wasn’t on my side. i was content on this lonely and empty feeling that was drowning me. i gave up on love, on being happy one day. i promised myself i’d never love again and i’d never smile for real ever again, but you, you, billy hargrove, are the only exception.”

i smile at him, “you’re a goddamn poet, harrington. she fucked you over way too hard. you deserve all that love and happiness.”

he looks at me with his pretty doe eyes.

“and so do you. you make me happy, hargrove. i love you and i’m not afraid of it anymore. i’m not afraid of life anymore and i know we just beat each other up but we’re both hurting…we’re both some pretty fucked up kids. but even if we are, you are helping me make me believe that life isn’t a bitch, life isn’t bleak and it’s a heaven with you in it.”

i can’t help the heat on my cheeks and he smiles. it’s big and dumb.

“i love you too, steve. more than i could say.” i gently kisses his top lip and he kisses back.

“when this cut on my lip has healed, i want a day long makeout sesh.”

“sounds like a plan.” i pull the covers over us, “get some sleep.”

“m’kay.” he yawns softly and buries his face in my neck.

i fall asleep holding him and he falls asleep holding my hand.

i hated the world and i hated hawkins. i loathed it. i was a dead boy walking and every person in hawkins knew it.

and, of course, he is the only exception.


End file.
